For Halloween this year I was a combination of the two sisters in Melancholia.
I have found my haircut: regardless of the length of the rest of it, I must have bangs. I figured it out the year I was Anna Wintour for Halloween; the wig got me itching for bangs.
So I tried it out, and it was the right call; I’ve decided that I look my best with bangs. However, as someone who likes change (who gets her hair cut just to plan how she is going to do it differently next time), knowing definitively how I look my best is so unfortunate.
It’s stifling. It’s boring. I want to change it. I tried to change it. But growing out bangs is not an easy pursuit. There are a lot of hair clips involved, oh, and a lot of uncovered, little forehead pimples for some reason. I haven’t gone full headband yet, but I’m getting there. A couple weeks ago, my bangs had grown about an extra inch and I was annoyed with the fuss, so I decided to do nothing one morning. I wanted to see what they would do independent of my meddling, so I just parted my bangs down the middle and walked out into the winds of Chicago.
When I got into the office that morning, my bangs were like two fluffs of cotton, unlovingly torn from a child’s discarded toy and taped to my forehead at odd angles. They looked so terrible that when I popped into my boss’s office for an impromptu meeting, she thought that I was about to tell her someone had died. I’m not projecting here; she literally told me she was concerned, specifically because of the state of my bangs.
Side note, later that day, after my bangs had time to mellow, I swear I looked just like Oscar Wilde: hair, white collar shirt, scarflet, a look of disdain.
However, occasionally looking like Oscar Wilde by happy accident is not my reliable personal best. So, I’m going back to bangs. Not because of a few bad grow-out days, but because I am my aesthetically and emotionally best self when I have my best haircut. I already sent my hair stylist a text with a heads-up, thinking she would give me push back for caving after only 2 months, and all she sent back was “whatever u wanna do!” You’re right, Courtnie. Why fight it?! I’m coming to you! Tomorrow? I texted times.
So, I guess with me already coming to an answer about my bangs, my question to you this week is… For Project Runway All Stars, can they take this time of change as an opportunity to get a new fashion stylist for Alyssa Milano? Her clothes are some of the worst scraps of fabric I have ever seen pinned to a human being.
I had a lovely Labor Day weekend with you and the family in Milwaukee, where, of course, the 115th Harvey Davidson Fest blazed through town. I figured a biker fashion recap would be in order, but all I wanted to do was part the cascading leather fringe, pluck off the grips of bushy fox tails, and roll up those weathered T’s to expose and stare at the many, the proud, the glorious biker bellies.
I see bellies as a confidence. When I was in High School, my gut was making its presence known and I remember wanting the world to embrace it. As a teenager, I conceptualized a pair of pants with a heart on the gut, which could be circled when placing your thumbs in your pockets. I imagined strutting down the runway with a crop top, thumbs in my fashion-pants pockets, showing love for my stomach.
I appreciate the belly story you shared. When grandma was pregnant with dad, she was running errands on Mitchell Street and, as she walked with her big, pregnant belly, the elastic on her underwear snapped and fell to the ground. As the resourceful, unembarrassed, and comically brilliant person that she was, Grandma picked up what was left of her underwear, nonchalantly placed them in the nearest mailbox, and quietly continued with her errands.
This weekend, while spectating at the Biker Rally, I wanted to swaddle my ears and my entire body, exposing only my belly-staring eyes, because of the sound, that deafening, body-vibrating sound of revving motorcycle engines, which felt like guttural growls of hunger; hunger for the road and the wind, I suppose, but also clearly hunger for being seen and heard and felt by everyone. It was invasive, but those sitting bellies were glorious.
Sending love directly from my belly,
P.S. I got so much peanut butter on my puff sleeves last week that I included a jar of Jif in my daily outfit catalog.
Three key things that you know about me have converged into an interesting moment.
So, the other day, on my walk to my daily salad bar lunch, which is in a food court on the second floor of a building with a terrifyingly open atrium, I had my grounding stone in hand. I was outside at this point and I was just playing with the stone, twirling it in my hands as I walked, and then I dropped it. I was ultimately able to retrieve it, but before I did… it skipped down the sidewalk and an earnest gentleman, noticing that I had dropped something that was bouncing towards him, started to move to pick it up for me. However, when it got close to him, and he could see it, he recoiled. He quickly moved his arms back, inhaled a large breath and darted a look at me. I think he thought it was poop.
Here are her brilliant and enlightening insights:
FASHION and STYLE Paris report. Female hair styles for teens/20’s beachy hair; no highlights! 30+ short hair and not styled but “wash and wear”. Men sport 2″ or longer hair; little evidence of shaved. Dresses/skirts are knee-length or longer. Skinny jeans rein for both sexes. Parisians seem to have the skinniest, longest legs so they look fabulous. Rare to see heels; flats are all the rage and/or strappy shoes. Must have straps around the ankle. Men seem to love the suede slip-ons. The latter aggressively embrace style; that’s why there are numerous men’s boutiques. Me? I look like a tourist.
I love this woman.
When people wear their hair in a bun on the very top of their head, they’re trying to look like they just came from a tanning bed, right?
Otherwise, there are a large number of super casual ballet studios out there.
P.S. I just tried an awesome shiny, flesh-toned nail polish from a Birch Box sample. The color was so cute, I looked it up on their site to buy a full sized bottle, and that’s when I realized I had just painted my toes with a “subtle, luminous shimmer” face highlighter.